


Afraid.

by starlightwatch



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Biohazard, F/F, Fluff, Game: Resident Evil 2, Game: Resident Evil 2 Remake (2019)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29795583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwatch/pseuds/starlightwatch
Summary: On a trip into the infamous Raccoon Cityyou just happen to walk into the beginningof an outbreak of ravenous zombies andheinous experiments.The only bright side to the night? While takingshelter you run into a feisty brunette who'sdetermined to find her brother and survivethis shit show.
Relationships: Claire Redfield / Reader, Claire Redfield / You
Kudos: 2





	1. i.

࿔

You're convinced you have the worst luck on the entire planet. 

Of all the weeks you could choose to go on a road trip to the city, you just happen to pick the one where everything goes to shit. You'd been there for a solid hour when you first found out about the riots in the streets and the virus that was spreading around the city like clockwork. How convenient. How did it happen? You have no clue and you're not sure you want to know either. 

So as far as you could see you had two options in this scenario.

One: Stay alive and get the hell out of Raccoon City somehow. 

Two: Wait in your tiny car–which did not have enough gas to make it back out of the city–and hope none of the ravenous infected decided to take a look inside. 

Number two was favorable but you knew better. You needed to work the courage up to get out of the car and haul ass to the police station; a police officer yelled that to you as his jugular became a nice woman's snack. Something about it being the safest place for civilians at the moment. Your heart seemed to throb against your rib cage, chest slightly burning from the panic forming at the idea of going out there. Gooey, dark splatters dribbled down your windshield from the same police officer. That did nothing to settle your nerves. 

"Okay." You breathed, shaking hands fumbling around in your glove department for the pistol you kept tucked away in your car for safety purposes. You did a lot of traveling at night thanks to your hectic college schedule, having the small firearm just made you feel safer during the late hours back home. "Let's do this."

Much as you tell yourself to get out of the car your body doesn't move. The only movement your limbs can produce is weak shakes, terrified of coming face to face with one of those (un)dead people. You know you can't stay there much longer, your goal is simple: get to the police station, get gas, get back to your car and get the hell out of there. 

Maybe take a few of these gnarly suckers down in the process. But Christ, there's undead people roaming the streets. That just doesn't happen outside of movies. 

With one final mental pep talk you finally force your fingers to curl around the door handle and pull, pushing the door open just enough for you to slide out. There's no signs of people–should you call them zombies?–just yet, so you take that as a good sign. 

With your keys tucked in your pocket, your pistol in hand and backpack tight around your shoulders you're off to the Raccoon City Police Department. You tread carefully, sticking close to the shadows of the streets – which proved harder than you thought it would, fires illuminated every other inch of the street in a crackling golden glow. Rain soaked you to the bone in mere minutes, thunder and lightning viciously popping across the dark sky every few seconds. 

You skid to a stop, shoes squeaking under the wet pavement so quickly that you almost lost your balance. A body is strewn across the sidewalk, stomach organs a messy pile atop it's abdomen and legs. The odor, mixing with the smell of smoke and rain, makes your stomach twist and turn, bile piling in your throat at the rotting smell. A gag passes your lips, followed by you pressing your hand to your lips to keep quiet and, maybe, block out the smell. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you whisper, slippery fingers clutching tightly around the pistol in your hands. Surely it couldn't still be alive after being gutted, surely not, but you couldn't take the chance. Carefully, you step over the corpse, sighing in relief when your shoe touches the pavement once again, but your other leg isn't so lucky. Grimy hands latch over your ankle, tugging it and a yelp out of you. 

Call it the adrenaline of the situation, or perhaps your burst of survival instincts, you immediately responded by stomping down on the fleshy hand with the heel of your boot. You quickly put some distance between the two of you before raising your handgun up. It takes three bullets for the zombie to let out a gurgling grunt before collapsing onto the wet pavement. You resist the urge to throw up having just killed what was once a man. 

The sound does draw more inhabitants of the area to your location, however. No time to mourn. You hurry around an old bus before a zombie has the time to push itself off the ground, catching sight of what appears to be another survivor in the process. At least, you hoped the zombies didn't know how to wield pistols. 

You swallow, watching them run through the gates of what you assume is the police station. "Hey!" You hope they can hear you over all of the noise of the streets. "Don't lock the gate!" 

Deciding the person must be unable to hear you, you break into a sprint. The sound of you yelling must catch the stranger's attention because they pause on the steps, briefly glancing back. The woman, now that you can make her out, immediately hurries back to the gate that you're approaching. Three zombies occupy the space that you need to get through, unfortunately. 

"Do you have bullets? We have to hurry!" 

You wave your handgun around for her to see, which also grabs the attention of your newfound undead buddies. Two more scattered around the ground poke their heads up from whatever they'd been doing before your arrival, shambling to their feet moments later. 

"Fuck, get inside–" you glance around, spotting a car you can climb over to round the fence–"I'll find another way!" 

You haven't got any time to spare, much less to hear the brunette girl calling after you. She watches you go, fearful for your safety and hopeful that you make it inside. 

It takes careful navigation to find your way around the perimeter of the station, hunting any hole you might squeeze through or locks in the doorways you could shoot. To your luck, there are none. The last resort is either face the zombies that are surely following behind you or climb the fence. The godforsaken wire fence. 

You swallow, carefully grounding yourself on the slick fencing, carefully repeating the action until you're left with the problem of the wire lining the top. "This is gonna hurt," you whisper, shakily trying to place your hands around the wire. You heave and your right leg goes over, a ripping sensation burning over your skin as it comes in contact with the wire. 

"Fuck, fuck!" 

Despite the drizzling rain you can easily feel the warmth of blood dripping down your thighs when you finally land on the other side. You frantically wipe at them, hoping the zombies in the area wouldn't catch a whiff of you. It burns and you hiss at the feeling, breathing heavily at the sight of ruby red rolling down your knees. 

What a great night this is shaping up to be. 

᯽

"Shit," you pant, slamming the door you've ducked through shut behind you. The door thuds and scratches from the frenzied zombie just outside banging on it in hopes of reaching you. You back to the corner of the room, rummaging through a dark box for any signs of weaponry that you can "borrow." 

You'd made it through the chaos of the streets, burning cars and corpses lining the roads in hazardous fashions. Not that the police station had been any better. It had been sheer luck that you managed to get yourself over the fence without slicing yourself to hell on the wire more than you had. Speaking of, the rips in your jeans – courtesy of the wire – allowed you to see the angry red gashes lining the soft flesh of your thighs. 

After a moment the banging on the door fades, the sound shuffles away from the door and you assume, for the moment, the zombie has left. Taking the spare moment to catch your breath you take a look around the room, it was obviously some sort of evidence room perhaps. A couple lockers lined the wall next to the door, a table and chair in the middle as well as a huge box in the farthest left corner. Taking a look around the corner you find that this is not an evidence room, but a makeshift Darkroom. 

A red light illuminates your hands and every reachable inch of you in the tiny attached room while you continue to browse around. You hum, stepping over to the cabinets where a pistol is tucked neatly inside–only visible because the grip peaks from the opening. "Stealing from a police station, great," you sigh, checking the clip for ammunition. 

With herbs in hand that you had found in the locker and on the top shelf you hop on the sink counter, peeling away the ripped fabric of your jeans to inspect the damage. One of the gashes had ripped open your skin, still seeping little amounts of blood onto your leg. You grimace, that would need stitches and you seriously doubt a darkroom would have what you needed. 

Maybe the storage–

The door to the little safe haven flings open, slamming shut behind whoever entered. Heavy breathing can be heard around the door; a human. 

A nervousness crawls over your skin in the tiny developing room, frightened over the aspect of another person. Usually, this would be good. But what if they were just as insane as the zombies outside? Footsteps trail around the room, rummaging through creaky lockers and eventually dropping something off in the lockbox. Then, the person finally steps closer to you, tucked away in the little development room. 

When they poke their head inside you're surprised, to say the least. This person isn't infected for sure and she definitely does not appear insane. That doesn't stop you from pointing the unloaded pistol at her, though. 

"You made it!" She sighs in relief and you quickly realize this was the stranger from the gate. "I knew you would." 

You cautiously glance at her, studying the softness of her eyes and the calmness radiating off of her. How could she be so calm? You were two seconds from having a panic attack. "Is it just you?" You ask, voice coming out much smaller and lighter than you intended. 

"Just me," she assures you, offering you a half empty case of pistol bullets. "I was with a cop on my way here but we got separated. How did you get in?" She's clearly trying to ease your mind. 

"I climbed the fence." You lower your weapon, letting it gently thud against the countertop and gesture down to the gashes on your thighs. She leans closer for inspection, wrinkling her nose at the thick smell of blood before leaning away. 

She gazes around momentarily, checking a cabinet and sighing in relief at a fuzzy white towel. "I have some disinfectant spray in my pocket, we can clean it and wrap it for now." 

"I think it's going to need stitches." 

She nods in agreement, gazing at you for approval – you sheepishly nod – before fishing a silver spray can from her back pocket. "I don't think I've seen any supplies for stitches but maybe we can find some in the storage rooms? This is a police station, surely they'd have medical supplies." She shakes her head, a quiet sigh passing her lips while she coats the towel in the spray. 

"Helluva night," she muses, likely just to keep the air from feeling tense. You can't help but agree with her, a small chuckle falling from your lips. "What's your name?" 

A quiet moment of awkwardness passes between the two of you when she goes to work on your leg, pausing when she realizes you hadn't told her it was okay to touch you. She waits until you nod to press the fabric onto your leg, gently wiping away the red stains from your skin. "I'm sorry," she whispers when you hiss in pain. . 

"My name, it's Y/N." 

The brunette smiles, an action that extends all the way to those shaded blue eyes of hers. "I'm Claire Redfield, looks like we're partners now, huh?" 

᯽ ݁ 


	2. ii.

Claire’s nothing short of a survivor, if you’re being honest. From the very moment she’d arrived in the city she’d ran straight into danger at a gas station, nearly got blown up by an eighteen wheeler and then fought her way to the RPD. 

She’s quick to bring up your bravery, too, though. 

She has just finished wrapping the gashes in your skin as best she could–albeit awkwardly, thanks to the location of them. She studies you with curiosity and concern when you hop down from the countertop, legs quivering for a brief moment before you steadied yourself with the help of the countertop. Claire extends her arms for you to grab onto if you need them but you shake your head dismissively; you could do this, you wouldn’t be a burden to her for the entire night, or however long this lasted. 

“Do you have any idea of how we’re supposed to get out of here?” You question, quietly limping around to the lockers next to the door, Claire mentioned there being some spare ammunition inside. To your relief there is a box of handgun bullets inside an orange case, different from the box of red shells Claire had tossed into the garbage after reloading her firearm. 

She nods, surprisingly. “I ran into this cop, Marvin, in the main hall a little while ago and he said that if we find these medallions–” she hurries over to where you stand, revealing a notebook with three statues scribbled over blood stained paper–“we can get out using them.” 

“Using medallions?” 

She reads your suspicion easily, nodding her head in understanding. “Trust me, I know how it sounds. But I already got the one here,” she points to the statue adorned with a lion, “so, we just need the unicorn and the maiden.” 

A chuckle passes your lips unintentionally at the names of the statues. Of all the weird things that could be found in a police station, you did not expect to hear of a “unicorn statue” in such a place. “I’m sorry, I know this is serious. That’s just–strange, very strange for a police station.” 

“Tell me about it.” The brunette sighs in exasperation, wiping away something you desperately wanted to convince yourself was just dirt from the striking red leather clinging to her shoulders. The back of the jacket, not that you had been staring at her backside, had a noticeable angel with the words, ‘Made in Heaven’ underneath it. Judging by the looks of this girl–brunette, soft blue eyes and a killer smile–you’d believe it. She might have been made in heaven. 

She turns around to look in your direction and you quickly divert your attention from where you had been studying her to the task of reloading your gun. The final two shells slipped inside the little clip and you push it firmly into place with a satisfying little click, tucking the rest of the ammo into your backpack. 

“Ready?” She asks, a light, “we can do this” sort of smile on her lips. 

“All things considered, I’m ready.” 

Claire takes the lead, a slim flashlight clutched in one hand and her pistol in the other, quietly moving up the first stairwell. Each step creaks and groans with age and you swear at the wood as if it would make anything better. Maybe it would, if only for your comfort. 

At the first hallway, the second floor, Claire pauses to look at a corpse slumped next to blood splattered shutters. The smell doesn’t seem old, the tinge of red is too fresh to be something that’s been there for days. She raises her firearm, making sure a bullet is in the chamber while you do the same before stepping cautiously over the corpse. You follow closely behind, shivering against the chilled rain of Fall wind seeping through cracked open windows. 

A low, crackled groan emits from the corpse behind you, grimy hands outstretched as she attempts to push up. The zombie, once an officer by the blue uniform, nearly catches your ankle in her fingers, cut short by you darting ahead. 

“Oh shit.” You raise your handgun, Claire tells you something along the lines of another zombie shuffling down the stairs. Her shoulders touch yours briefly as she pulls the pistol up to put it down, a defensive back-to-back stand between you. “Nice to know you’ve got my back, literally,” you tell her, voice wavering unsteadily. 

You pull the trigger once, twice, and a third time before the zombified officer drops to her knees, landing on the floor with a final grunt. The zombie Claire had taken topples over the stairway, a loud thud emitting from the floor below. 

“Are you okay?” Claire questions, seizing the moment of safety to look around at you through wide eyes and furrowed brows. Claire was caring, a habit of hers, she cared about people. Even if she was just in as much danger as you were, she still cared enough to ask. 

“Define okay.” 

A coy little smile perks up the corner of her lips, amusement from your words. “You’re still breathing, right?” Her words are laced with humor, the concern is still there, though. She just wants to make you feel better. 

“Small, panicked breaths count?” You chuckle quite breathlessly, still wondering how Claire seemed to adjust so quickly to this. 

Claire is inclined to agree with you. She may not have shown it but on the inside she was petrified. Things like this just did not happen everyday, and where was Chris really? Why didn’t he tell her he was leaving? She could have avoided all of this, could have stayed home where it was safe–she shakes her head, dismissing her fears, she needed to stay strong for both of your sakes now. 

Claire leads the way up to the third floor, cringing whenever the stairs emit a groaning exhale from the weight and age of them. At the very top a small desk statue nearly gave the both of you a heart attack from the shadow it loomed over the doorway. Inside sat a small key, a key with a blue spade on the top of it. 

“Huh,” Claire mutters, turning the key around in her fingertips to examine it. “I think I actually saw a door with this emblem on it in the Main Hall, could be useful?” She drops it in your hand with a smile, moving towards the doorway in the corner of the room. 

“Hey, don’t you want to keep up with this? What if I lose it or something?” 

She tilts her head to the side, a strand of brunette hair gently falling over her cheek as she does. “C’mon, we’re partners now. You got this, I promise. You’re doing a lot better than you think you are.” 

“I’d probably still be hiding in the dark room if you hadn’t come along, to be honest. But thank you, Claire.” 

You shrug, sighing quietly before joining her in the darkened hallway, only illuminated by pale moonlight seeping in from a lone window. You’re thankful for the lack of efficient lighting in the station, otherwise she would have seen the fluster on your face from her reassuring words. Claire Redfield was nothing short of a stunner, anyone could see that, but this didn’t exactly seem like the time to develop a silly crush. 

A flash of lightning illuminates the hall long enough for the two of you to catch sight of something crawling past it. Definitely not a zombie, you’re sure of that much. You’re not sure you want to find out what it was at all, on that note. 

The room you end up in is a storage room of sorts, various old shelves and other things lay scattered about. A cell lined one end of the room, containing one of the statues Claire had mentioned before. The only problem now would be the blockage in front of the doorway. 

“Great,” Claire huffs, meanwhile you take to venturing around the little room for any supplies while she investigates. When you return to her you’re carrying a bottle of gunpowder, some pistol ammunition and a hip pouch. 

“On the bright side, I found this–” you dangle it out to her, letting it sway back and forth between the two of you before she takes it–“I’ve got my backpack so it’s all yours.” 

Claire, trying to make light of the situation and humor herself, chimes up. “Well aren’t you a charmer, giving me a gift and all.” 

You roll your eyes and join her beside the cell, peeking through the bars at the medallion. There’s no way to get it without getting inside. “Yep, I know how to charm any gal,” you joke, earning a quiet chuckle from the girl beside you. “So, how are we gonna get this one?” 

“Looks like we got two things on the list now: medallions and some sort of explosive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yuhhh i’m actually putting effort into this! i haven’t written something like this since ‘no light’ on my wattpad, an ellie williams x reader fic. :) hope you enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> chapter one! hope you like it. :)


End file.
